He was some time gone, and the lady, tired at last of the flowers, the reflector, and the mossy sundial, and tempted by the cropped turf, turned to her ancient consolation for leisures that were too long; so that the first thing which met Veynes’ eye on his return was her lithe figure, in fawn and gold, doing a little melancholy dance between the scarlet flower beds.
The sight did not sweeten his temper; it emphasized too loudly reproaches which hummed still against his ears. Even those red blossoms, which had lived in their mute livery so many years about the court, might have been too surprised to recognize, by the swift, small feet that brushed their petals, a future mistress.
As Veynes drew near, the dance became a little more flamboyant, still further ruffling him; the spaces of dainty petticoat seemed to enlarge his grievance.
“Well?” she inquired, loftily, as he approached, dropping into an attitude.
“Well,” he echoed, gruffly, “you needn’t fool about for the benefit of the gardeners. He won’t see you.”
His tone sided with the rebuff, and brought a flush of color to her face. She had been his wife only a night and a day.
“All right,” she replied, simply. “I will see him; and meanwhile the gardeners are very welcome.”
He flung himself into a seat. “Just as you please,” he grunted; “only he doesn’t know you’re here.”
She took no heed to the hint, but walked in her deliberate fashion to the edge of the lawn; then she turned and came back more slowly.
“What did you tell him?” she asked her husband.